Patricia walked with her head held high, trying to maintain her dignity, but her steps were uneven.

As she crossed the threshold, she looked back over her shoulder.

Her eyes scanned the grand hallway, landing on the three of us standing near the top of the stairs.

She did not say another word.

The officers led her down the stone steps and toward the waiting police cruiser.

The heavy wooden front door swung shut with a dull thud.

Ramiro remained in the foyer, his eyes fixed on the door.

My father stood on the stairs, his head bowed slightly as the sound of the police sirens began to fade down the long driveway.

The silence that followed was heavy, filling the vast space of the mansion.

The light from the chandelier cast long, still shadows across the floor.

My father slowly turned around to face us.

His shoulders, usually so straight and firm, seemed to sag under an invisible weight.

He looked at Rosa, then at Martina, and finally at me.

His eyes were wet, reflecting the dim light of the hallway.